


Number Five

by goth_on_ham



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Choking, M/M, Revenge, Torture, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-09-26 10:21:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9889343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goth_on_ham/pseuds/goth_on_ham
Summary: Victor finds out Oswald is dead. Someone has to pay for that. Set post 3x14.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Most likely a two-parter, with the second part probably coming with more warnings and being a fair bit longer than this.

“The King is dead.”

Their laughter swirled in Victor’s ears until he couldn’t stand it. He ended it with gunshots. All five bodies hit the floor. Lifeless and heavy. 

Then it was quiet.

He’d just killed five powerful men. Crime lords. There would be consequences. Victor didn’t care.

Oswald was dead.

He couldn’t believe it.

Oswald was  _dead._

He hadn’t protected him. He hadn’t even known he was in danger. Now it was too late.

There was nothing he could do for him. 

Except from get revenge.

—

Victor didn’t know Edward Nygma well. They had met once, when he had hired him for a job. It had been a fun job, and a clever one, but that didn’t mean Victor had gained any respect for the mastermind behind it. 

The only other times Victor had seen Ed had been during meetings with the heads of Gotham’s underworld. He would be at Oswald’s side, often looking over notes, and sometimes leaning in and whispering something into his boss’ ear. Victor would be lying to himself if he pretended that hadn’t effected his opinion of Ed. He didn’t like their closeness. It wasn’t just jealousy, it was more complicated than that. He didn’t trust him. He didn’t trust the way his lips would curve into a secretive smile. He didn’t trust his dark brown eyes and the way that they shone behind his glasses. He didn’t trust the hand he placed on Oswald’s shoulder. 

When he found out that Ed had been the one who had murdered Oswald, it proved that he had been right not to trust him. But he felt no satisfaction. Only frustration that he hadn’t done something about him before it was too late.

—

“Where am I?” 

Ed was finally awake. He’d been out for longer than Victor had expected. He’d lost his temper a bit, hit him a bit too hard. Ed had a bruise on the side of his head to show for it.

“Release me at once!”

He grunted and tried to prise his arms free of the black leather bonds that Victor had secured them with. He had no luck. Victor had considered chains, but that seemed a bit too medieval torture dungeon-y.

“Sure, I’ll release you. Just as soon as we’ve finished having a talk.” Victor stepped out of the shadows so that his prisoner could see him. He deliberately didn’t say that he’d release him alive.

The bound man’s eyes widened, almost comically, and his mouth hung open. He understood. Victor could tell that he understood.

“Zsasz- I-“ Ed became tongue tied. He probably had a million things he wanted to say. A million excuses and promises. Victor wasn’t interested in hearing them. “Oh my gosh… I- Why- Why am I here? Untie me!”

The assassin allowed himself a small smirk at the way Ed stumbled over his words. He crooked his head to the side slightly and observed the way that the sweat on Ed’s forehead had turned a few strands of his hair curly. It was kind of cute.

“Don’t play dumb, Ed. It doesn’t suit you.” He stepped forwards with a springlike movement and knelt in front of him. Ed flinched backwards. Victor moved closer. “Take a guess why you’re here.”

Ed swallowed thickly. He shifted uncomfortably against the cold stone wall of the basement, his eyes were fixed on Victor’s as he struggled to speak. 

Victor had thought it might be like this. Ed had worked for the GCPD before. He wasn’t used to all this. He wasn’t used to being this scared. Some people had made fun of Oswald for being a coward, but he’d looked fear in the face time and time again. He had understood it. Ed didn’t. 

“How many people have you killed?” Victor asked him, the question catching Ed off guard, if the way his brow raised was anything to judge by. 

A couple of moments passed before Ed answered.

“Three.”

Victor stared at him, his expression darkened and Ed seemed to shrink in response. 

“I mean… Four. I- I forgot about the man in the woods. He came across me when I was burying Miss Kringle’s body and-“

“You’ve killed five people.” Victor corrected him, his voice dangerously sharp, just like the boxcutter that he had taken from his pocket. He pushed up its segmented blade and it clicked softly against its plastic casing. A sound came out of Ed’s lips that might have been a whimper. Or an attempt to speak. Victor didn’t really care which it was.

He smiled a ghoulish smile, the white of his teeth standing out from the black fabric of his clothes and the dark, dark brown of his large, pitiless eyes. 

The boxcutter made short work of Ed’s clothes. Green fabric was cut away, then white, then green again. He left Ed in just his underwear and the slenderly built man shivered at being so exposed. Victor could guess what horrible possibilities were running through Ed’s clever brain, and he would try to make at least half of them come true before he was done with him. But first…

He put a hand on one of Ed’s legs, his grip firm and uncompromising. He forced it to the side so that the sensitive skin of his inner thigh was displayed. Ed was thin, there wasn’t much meat, but what was there was soft and unblemished. 

“Don’t- Whatever you’re plan is, don’t- We can do this another way. We can make a deal.” Ed had finally managed to find his words again but his voice was thick with fear. Victor ignored him.

He pressed the tip of the boxcutter blade to the soft skin and Ed tried to jerk his leg back. Victor held firm.

“Stay still.” He ordered. His eyes moving from Ed’s thigh to his face as he spoke. “Unless you want my hand to slip.”

That threat stilled Ed, but he whimpered and pleaded out more promises that they could make a deal.

The blade sunk into the flesh and Victor felt Ed’s leg twitch in his hand. He moved his head back, squeezed his eyes shut. Before he had finished the third cut, he began to cry. 

Victor imagined that it wasn’t because it hurt, but because he didn’t know what Victor was going to do with him. He didn’t know if this would be kindness compared to what happened next. He didn’t know if Victor was going to kill him. He didn’t even really know  _why_  Victor was doing this.

Ed had probably deduced that it was because of Oswald, but he didn’t know that he had loved him. How could he? Ed hadn’t even noticed that Oswald had fallen in love. 

Then, he had hurt him for loving him. He had  _killed_  him.

The fact that Oswald had killed Isabella changed nothing for Victor. Ed had killed the man that Victor loved, and he would pay for it. He would take from Ed what he had taken from Oswald. It wouldn’t bring Oswald back, but it was all that Victor could do to try to soothe the pain inside of him.

Victor put the boxcutter away once he had carved five bloody red tally marks into Ed’s thigh. Ed was whimpering and shaken. He was trembling. Quite the different picture to the proud, clearheaded genius Victor had first seen him as.

The cuts were deep and the marks would surely be there for the rest of Ed’s life

Although Victor didn’t plan on letting him live much longer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is no longer a two-parter... Haha...

After Victor had carved the five marks into Ed’s flesh, the assassin left him. It took Ed quite a while to recover enough from the shock and pain to begin to examine his surroundings.  
  
It was very dark, but his eyes had began to adjust. There were no windows, so Ed thought it likely that he was being held in a basement. Despite the pain in his leg, he forced himself up onto his feet and walked around the sides of the room. He used the sides of his arms to feel for any uneven surfaces along the walls. Then, a sharpness on one of the stones that nearly cut him. He gasped, first in pain, then in delight.  
  
Although Ed had no way of knowing exactly how much time the process of freeing took, he knew that it was awkward and time consuming. But eventually, his efforts were rewarded and he managed to worry away the leather strap that had tied his arms behind his back.   
  
He stretched his newly freed arms, having never felt more grateful to have them, and laughed in glee at having accomplished the first step of his brilliant escape already. Victor would have to answer for what he had already done to him, but that could wait until after he had safely left the premises.  
  
“Now for the lock.” Ed walked over to the door and examined it. He didn’t want to risk the noise of trying to break it open when he had no way of knowing how far away his kidnapper was. He glanced up at the lightbulb on the ceiling (which was switched off) and wondered if he could reach it and smash it. The metal parts inside could be of use to him…  
  
Then, with his face only inches away from the doorknob, the door opened and his hopes of escaping sank as quickly as they had risen.  
  
Afterwards, Ed would rebuke himself for not trying to tackle Victor, for not trying to fight his way out when he still had the full use of both of his hands. But, at that moment, he panicked. He stumbled backwards, only to have his arm caught by a mercilessly strong, gloved hand. Within seconds, he was forced face down onto the floor with Victor’s boot on his back, his arm still held behind him.  
  
“You tried to escape sooner than I thought you would.” Victor admitted, sounding vaguely impressed but ultimately emotionless. Ed couldn’t help but feel vaguely insulted that his captor wasn’t even angry at his escape attempt. As if it had been so doomed that it didn’t even warrant spending emotion on. But his feelings were drowned out by sudden, horrible pain and the sound of bones snapping.  
  
Ed screamed and tried to rise up against Victor’s boot, but it was useless. Victor broke all of the fingers of his right hand, one after another, a soft hum coming from his lips as he did it.  
  
Then, he released Ed’s arm and it fell down shakily to rest at his side.  
  
“Next time, don’t laugh so loudly. It gives you away.”  
  
Ed barely heard Victor’s words of advice over the throbbing pain that had taken over his right hand and clouded his mind. He sobbed in frustration, he had been so close.  
  
—  
  
Although the broken fingers would probably have thwarted any further attempts to escape that night, Victor took the precaution of chaining his prisoner to the wall. He had to hammer a hook into the stone to secure the chain to it and once he was done, he made a surprisingly lighthearted comment about how he hadn’t wanted to use chains to begin with because it made the place seem like something out of a corny horror movie or the middle ages. However, Ed had forced his hand.  
  
“It doesn’t look too bad actually.” He admitted once he had finished and had locked Ed’s wrists inside their new, sturdier bonds. “Don’t you think so?”  
  
Ed didn’t respond. He couldn’t bring himself to.  
  
“Ah, of course. You can’t see yourself.”  
  
He couldn’t, but Ed could imagine how he must look.  
  
“Well, goodnight then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
  
When he was once more left alone, Ed felt the urge to cry rise up in him again. It was only the fear that Victor would come back before he had finished, or would hear him from outside the door, that stopped him.  
  
He tried to console himself that as much pain as he was in, as hopeless as it seemed, he was smarter than Victor and he would soon think of a way out of his dreadful situation.  
  
—  
  
“Wakey-wakey.”  
  
An indeterminate amount of time later, Ed woke up to the sensation of a bare hand lightly slapping him on the cheek.  
  
“Time to wake up.”  
  
The slaps became a little harder, enough to sting a bit, and Ed shifted uncomfortably in an attempt to move from them. “I’m awake.” He protested, hoping that would stop them.  
  
It didn’t. Victor hit him again, and it was a harder slap, one that snapped his head to the side and probably left an angry, hot pink mark on his cheek. Ed yelped and reached for his face to shield himself, but the short chains that Victor had fastened him to didn’t allow that kind of protection. The assassin laughed at the apparently humorous sight of him trying to reach for his face and failing.  
  
“Good.” His captor reached forwards and undid the metal shackles. The strain of being held up against the wall all night made them feel limp and sore. His right hand was still in agony from the consequences of his escape attempt. The new movement reawakened the injury. “You’ve got a long day ahead of you.”  
  
Ed cradled his wounded hand close to his chest, as if that could soothe it better. “What do you mean?” He asked warily. He feared the answer, but he feared the uncertainty more. For as long as he could remember, there were few things he had hated more than not knowing things.  
  
Victor smiled widely and it was the same unpleasant smile that Ed recalled seeing the previous night. “You’ll see.”  
  
“Tell me,” Ed pressed, then he all but flinched as Victor reached out for his face. He expected another blow. Instead, Victor flicked him on the nose. It hurt, but considerably less than the other assaults he had suffered thus far at the assassin’s hands.  
  
“I said… ‘You’ll see.’” Victor repeated, his voice dangerously low all of a sudden.

—

Three days passed and Ed was a mess of bruises and breaks. Victor had shown him his reflection that morning and he had been horrified at how terrible he looked. His left eye had nearly swollen shut. Trails of blood and tears that he hadn’t been able to wipe clean still clung to his unwashed face. He was sure that he looked worse by the end of the day.

“I… I need to know why you’re doing this.” He pleaded. He’d asked before, but this time, Victor didn’t ignore him. He was glad, because it hurt to talk and he wasn’t even sure how much longer he’d be able to. Victor had mused aloud about cutting his tongue off earlier and despite how he’d chuckled after the statement, Ed didn’t think it was safe to assume it was a joke.

Frankly, he was surprised that he  _hadn’t_  cut anything off yet. But it was only day three. Ed had no way of knowing how long Victor intended to keep him, or what state he would be in before he finally died. 

He had come to the conclusion he would die. 

When he was alone, he could imagine escaping, but whenever Victor was in the room that hope left him and he felt terrifyingly close to death.

“I thought you’d maybe work that out by yourself.” The assassin admitted. He was sitting crosslegged on the ground in front of Ed, with the taller man’s bare feet in his lap. Ed didn’t have it in him to kick, so there was no need to restrain them. He rested a hand on his ankles with surprising gentleness, but Ed paid little attention to that. His eyes were instead drawn to the pliers in Victor’s other hand. He knew what Victor was going to do to him, because he’d told him the night before.

“Please tell me.” He said again, each word hurting. Maybe if he found out, he could find a way to persuade Victor not to go through with pulling out his toenails. Maybe there was something he could say or do that would appeal to his sense of mercy. It seemed unlikely, but Ed tried to tell himself that it wasn’t impossible.

“Okay then.” Victor agreed, stroking his thumb over one of Ed’s ankles. Ed trembled and the assassin smiled slightly. “Are you ticklish?”

Ed nodded because he had learned that he should always answer Victor’s questions. “ _Please_.” He whimpered, becoming even more desperate. He was afraid that Victor would become distracted and he would never know.

“Oh right. Why you’re here.” Victor said slowly, so slowly that it seemed deliberate. “It has to do with Penguin.”

Ed had thought so. But the softness in Victor’s confession startled him and he began to fear just what it had to do with Oswald. Victor’s dark brown eyes had lowered, and a small smile rested on his lips. He looked thoughtful, as if he was remembering Oswald fondly as he explained things to Ed.

“I was in love with him.”

Ed found that a sob was rising in his throat and his ribs seemed to creak in protest at the thought of how much crying would hurt. As soon as he had seen Victor’s face soften at the mention of Oswald’s name, he’d been afraid that was what he had been about to say.

“I’m sorry.” He begged, his voice barely above a whisper. He had been on the other end of this before, and he knew how useless apologies were. He knew Victor would hurt him anyway. If Oswald had been in his position, if he had had his feet in his lap and a pair of pliers in his hand… He would have done the same thing that Victor was about to do.

The tears that had been building up began to flow freely and he couldn’t find it in himself to try to hold them back. He made horrible, pathetic sounds and within seconds he couldn’t even see Victor’s face from how hard he was crying. 

“It’ll be over soon.” Victor replied, with no particular emotion in his voice. He began to click the metal tips of the pliers together. “Now hold still.”

—

Halfway across Gotham, Oswald Cobblepot was alive but not quite well.  
  
He had nearly died and had only just healed enough to get out of bed unaided.   
  
Gabe had been his ‘nurse’. It turned out that his father had been a doctor, and he knew a thing or two about how to take care of people when they were hurt. Any other time and Oswald would have probably made some sort of smart ass comment about how the apple had fallen very far from the tree.  
  
After a black market surgeon had done her job and stitched him up, Gabe had taken care of him with infinite patience towards all of Oswald’s miserable assertions that Gabe should have left him to sink to the bottom of the sea.  
  
“I need to get back out there, Gabe. I can’t live like this. If I don’t do anything with my life, I may as well have died when Ed shot me.” Oswald said on his first morning out of bed. He had a determined look in his eyes and Gabe couldn’t help but smile at seeing his boss more like his old self again.  
  
“What are you going to do, boss?” He asked, cutting his toast up for him into bite sized pieces. Oswald  _could_  do that himself, but it didn’t feel right to let him.  
  
Oswald looked out of the window, taking in Gotham’s misty skyline and reflecting on how quickly things changed. His gaze grew harder as he answered.  
  
“I’m going to find Edward Nygma, and I’m going to kill him.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with this little story of mine, the kind words and support mean a lot! I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long.

Ed passed out during the process twice. The pain and his own exhaustion mixing together made it impossible to stay conscious for it all. Both times, Victor slapped him awake and he was forced to endure it until sweet unconsciousness once again gave him temporary respite from the agony.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Ed.”

Victor’s voice seemed to reverberate inside of his head. It was soft, cheerful, but the words bounced around his skull and made him want to scream. 

He couldn’t. He couldn’t see him tomorrow. He couldn’t endure another day of this. He couldn’t. He couldn’t. 

He couldn’t.

It wasn’t long after Victor had left him that he began to hyperventilate. His ribs ached in protest but that didn’t stop him from descending into a full blown panic. He sobbed, screaming out begs and bargains to the empty room that he was confined in. He yelled until his throat burned and until he could no longer summon up the energy to form words. Eventually, his body slackened against the stone wall of his prison. The lack of noise was cold and frightening after he had filled the small room with so much of it moments ago. His mind summoned up a companion, someone to speak since he could no longer find the strength to. However, when Ed saw him, he would have preferred the silence.

“Oh, Ed.”

Oswald reached out for him, and Ed could have sworn he felt his touch when his fingertips brushed tenderly over one of his knees. A gentle squeeze to one of the few places left on his body that wasn’t filled with pain.

“I missed you.”

Warm tears rolled down Ed’s face. The usually clear skin marred with dried tears, saliva, sweat, and blood. But Oswald looked at him like he couldn’t see any of that. 

Oswald had always looked at him like no one else ever had. 

Even Kristen, even Isabella. 

He looked at him like he was perfect. Ed hadn’t realised what that had meant until it was too late.

“Oswald…” He whispered, his voice so hoarse it was barely audible. “Can you…”

Oswald squeezed his knee again. Ed _swore_ he could feel it. 

“Could you help me? Could you take these manacles off?” 

It was a stupid question. Of course he couldn’t. He was just in his head.

Besides, even if he could, what then? He wasn’t strong enough to walk, never mind escape.

Oswald smiled in response, a soft, gentle smile with a hint of bashfulness that only Oswald was able to pull off. How could a man who had been the King of Gotham’s underworld look so innocent at times? It was a mystery Ed had never been able to solve. 

“Oswald?” He tried again. He wished that he could touch him too. 

He was surprised by how much he wanted to. 

Had he wanted to touch him before? He _had_ touched him. A lot. Without even thinking about it. It had felt natural to do so, and Oswald always lit up at his attention. It had been nice to be so appreciated. 

“Ed. I’m not real.” 

Oswald skin faded from pale to deathly blue. The hand on Ed’s knee turned cold, like ice. The suit he was wearing became heavy looking and soaked through with water, a bloodstain bloomed red at the front. Ed gasped in horror, his mouth becoming wide. 

“Ghosts aren’t real. Idiot.” Oswald spat out the words, his previous tenderness gone, replaced by vitriol and bile that burned at Ed. He shook his head from side to side, trying to make him disappear, but Oswald stayed where he was. “I’m not going anywhere. I want to see what he does to you next.”

Ed squeezed his eyes shut, he shook his head more violently. He counted backwards from ten, he counted upwards from one. He tried anything he could think of to make him disappear. But no matter what he did, he could still feel Oswald’s hand on his knee.

—

It turned out what Victor planned to do to him next was kill him. 

Ed sensed it when Victor came into the room the next day. Something about him seemed different. Like he had made up his mind that he had played around with Ed enough, that it was time to move on. 

Oswald was standing in the corner of the room beside the door. He looked between Ed and Victor, and then settled on Ed. He straightened his back and puffed out his chest with something resembling pride. 

“He’s wonderful, isn’t he? One of the few people I could always count on.”

Ed wondered if the real Oswald had ever told Victor that. Had he let Victor know he appreciated him? Or had loving Oswald been a thankless, lonely occupation for the assassin? Had it been similar to how he imagined loving him had been for Oswald?

“What are you looking at?” Victor asked him, following the direction of Ed’s eyes and seeing nothing.

Ed didn’t answer. 

“It doesn’t matter. Say goodbye to it. Whatever it is.” 

Ed’s breath caught in his throat. So this was it. Victor _was_ going to kill him. 

He found that the idea frightened him more than he had expected. He was in so much pain that death should have been a relief, but he didn’t want to go. He didn’t want it to end this way.

“Please-“ He started, but he couldn’t finish. Victor was already undoing his manacles with his face expressing nothing but unwavering concentration.

Once his wrists were freed, Victor moved back and dragged him away from the wall by the ankles. He stopped once Ed was in the centre of the room.

“Do you have any last words?” He asked. Ed noticed that Victor didn’t have a knife or gun in his hands, nor was he holding any other kind of weapon. That confused Ed.

His usually sharp mind was dulled with agony. Victor’s torture had managed to coax it into a fog. 

“Go on, Edward. Beg him to spare you. Tell him how you loved me too, but you were too afraid to admit it.” Oswald said from the corner of the room, a sneer on his face that was meaner than any Ed had ever seen on his friend’s face before. “That’s true isn’t it? You loved me!”

“No.” Ed said, in response to Oswald, not to Victor. But Victor was the one who responded to it.

Victor tilted his head to the side, then he shrugged. “Fine.” He moved towards Ed, and Ed shrank away but Victor didn’t let him get far. He sat behind him, with his legs on either side of Ed and his chest pressed firmly against his back. 

“No, no, no… I didn’t- Please- I didn’t mean-“ Ed pleaded, squirming against the firm body that was behind his, “I didn’t mean- Please don’t-“

Victor wrapped his right arm around Ed’s throat then began to shush him. His breath tickled Ed’s ear. The intimacy made his body flush hot. He hadn’t thought he was so depraved, but apparently the adrenaline was _doing_ things to him. Either that… Or it was simply the feeling of Victor’s arm pressed against his throat, firm and strong, pinning him against the assassin, that made his cock harden inside of his underwear. 

So this was how he was going to die.

He supposed that there was some poetry in it. He thought of Kristen, her struggling and fighting against him, trying to force her mouth out from beneath his hand, her neck away from his too tight grip. He thought of Isabella, dressed up, impersonating Kristen. She had placed his hands on her throat. 

The sex had been incredible.

He thought of Oswald, pleading for his life. Handcuffed and helpless and with tears rolling down his cheeks.

Part of Ed had wanted to forgive him. Part of Ed had wanted to be accept what Oswald had said and had wanted to stay by his side. Part of him had wanted to let Oswald touch him when the other man had reached out for him. His hands had trembled. They must have been freezing from the rain. Oswald got cold easily. The icy water of the docks had been a bad way for him to go. 

Victor’s arm pressed down hard on his throat and he began to choke. Although he could have easily broken his neck, Victor didn’t. He was asphyxiating him.

Ed’s slender, beaten body writhed against Victor’s unyielding one. His bruised, stained skin rubbing against Victor’s black clothes. His erection didn’t soften, even as he saw Oswald sneering at him from the other side of the room, even as his vision began to blur and his lungs burned. Even as he felt himself fade into unconsciousness, into death…

The last sound he heard was Oswald’s voice calling his name.

—

Ed blinked. 

Sunlight shone through a window. He was somewhere with a window. He wasn’t dead.

He looked from side to side. He was in a bed. 

A comfortable bed.

There were flowers on the bedside table and a glass of water. There was a round white plate with a sandwich on it. It looked like it was tuna.

“The boss says no harm done, so I guess you’re free to go as soon as you can walk out of here.” 

Victor.

“W-What?” Ed didn’t understand. 

How long had he been asleep? 

Why was he here? 

Was this real?

So many questions rushed through his head and as he tried to sit up to start asking them, another came to him.

Had Oswald saved him?

“Yeah. Apparently he forgives you and stuff. Said this evens the score between you two.” Victor shrugged, as if it didn’t bother him too much one way or another.

“Oswald’s… Oswald’s alive?” Ed swallowed deeply, his throat aching as he did. He felt like his heart might explode too. “Let me see-“

“No.”

Victor’s expression hardened instantly, his dark eyes shining dangerously and his jaw tight. A bead of sweat trickled down Ed’s forehead. He’d seen that look before many times when Victor had been in the basement with him. He knew what it meant.

“He doesn’t want to see you.”

Ed smiled, he didn’t quite understand why. Perhaps to pretend to himself that he didn’t feel tears in his eyes.

“I suppose that’s reasonable.” He admitted. He didn’t know what he’d say to him anyway. ‘Sorry’, ‘thank you’? He had no idea.

“Yeah.” Victor gradually relaxed again, but his expression was still cold. “See you later then.”

He turned to leave and Ed found himself calling out for him before he even thought of why he felt the need to. Before he even thought of what he wanted to say to him.

“What is it?”

“Be good to him… Okay?” 

Ed’s fingers tangled in the silken bedsheets. They were deep green. He wondered if Oswald had chosen them for him, or if it was just a coincidence. The tears in his eyes began to blind him. They ran down his face and spilled onto the green fabric, leaving dark splotches on it. 

“I don’t need you to tell me that.” 

The door clicked shut and Victor left him alone in the bedroom. Somewhere in the house, far away but just close enough for Ed to hear, he heard Oswald’s muffled voice speaking to Victor.

Then silence.


End file.
